


blondes, brunettes (paper jets)

by nirav



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:39:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3068234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirav/pseuds/nirav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven won’t speak to Clarke because of Finn.  Raven and Bellamy are still fooling around.  Clarke and Bellamy are still fooling around.  The three of them are no longer fooling around together.<br/>o	Much more of a problem than one might have expected<br/>o	Because Raven is terrifying<br/>o	So is Clarke<br/>o	Bellamy is scared of them</p>
            </blockquote>





	blondes, brunettes (paper jets)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lescousinsdangereux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lescousinsdangereux/gifts).



> christmas fic, following the request for an OT3 scene.

**Things That Are Good At This Time** (a list by Bellamy Blake):

 

The Grounders aren’t trying to kill them anymore

  * That’s definitely good



Clarke’s mom is still the Chancellor and Kane isn’t

  * Probably a good



Lincoln is healing, so Octavia is happy

  * Mostly a good. As long as they aren’t sneaking off to have sex. Because Bellamy Blake’s little sister does _not_ have sex.



   
 **Things That Are A Bit Less Good At This Time** (a second list by Bellamy Blake):

  
 Their people are still in Mount Weather

  * Definite problem



Finn is dead

  * Less of a problem than one might expect



Murphy is still around

  * Exactly as much of a problem as one might expect



Raven won’t speak to Clarke because of Finn. Raven and Bellamy are still fooling around. Clarke and Bellamy are still fooling around. The three of them are no longer fooling around together

  * Much more of a problem than one might have expected
  * Because Raven is terrifying
  * So is Clarke
  * Bellamy is scared of them



Forget the good list, everything is terrible

 

* * *

 

 

“So,” Bellamy says, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. His spine cracks pleasantly with the extension, and there’s the added bonus of the way Raven’s eyes always linger on his stomach when he stretches. She doesn’t really talk anymore, not since Finn and not about anything that anyone else can understand—none of the other mechanics survived the trip to the ground, and that weird engineer who’s always sucking on helium and ogling her pretends to be on her level, but really, no one is and Bellamy could be bothered by that but instead chooses to find it attractive—but she still appears in the tiny little tent every night, just as she has since Finn’s death.

“So what,” she mumbles, pulling her eyes away from the sweaty skin of his stomach and the bite mark on his shoulder. She noisily fumbles with her brace, tugging at the straps. It’s harder, now, for her to top him, but he never protests, letting her maneuver her way around his body with only one and a half legs.

“When are you going to talk to her?”

Raven ignores him, fiddling instead with one of the hinges and muttering about shitty aluminum substitutes and selling a child for some decent elbow grease, and elbows him in the ribs when he sits up behind her. He takes the brace out of her hands anyways, muscling the hinge loose and handing it back to her without a word.

She shoves him away, standing on her good leg long enough to strap herself in. The brace squeaks into place, and she tugs violently at the straps to replace them.

“Raven,” Bellamy says. “Come on. You can’t avoid her forever.”

“I’m not avoiding her,” she says, snapping the last buckle in place. She straightens up and combs her fingers through her hair, pulling it back neatly. “I have work to do.”

 

* * *

 

 

After dinner, he finds Clarke sitting quietly with Lincoln and Octavia, her eyes locked on the door halfway across camp where the Commander and Chancellor are still meeting. There’s an untouched cup of what masquerades as coffee sitting in front of her, pathetic wisps of steam curling up into the cooling air.

Bellamy kicks gently at Octavia’s foot, jerking his head to one side. She rolls her eyes at him, punching him in the arm and leaving with Lincoln anyways, and Bellamy nudges an empty chair until it’s directly in Clarke’s eyeline and plops down into it.

“Hey,” he says plainly.

“Hi,” she mutters, and redirects her eyes down to her coffee.

“So.” He takes the cup and swallows half of it. “That’s disgusting. Don’t drink it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” It’s not a real smile, but one side of her mouth quirks up for a moment.

“You need to talk to Raven.”

“Bellamy,” Clark says with a sigh, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “Not again.”

“Look, you did the right thing. You know it. She knows it, though who the hell knows when she’s going to get her head out of her ass long enough to realize it. But she’s definitely not going to do that until you two _talk_ about it.”

“She’s not some irrational child,” Clarke snaps. “I _killed_ Finn instead of saving him. She has every right to hate me.”

“No,” Bellamy says, slamming the coffee cup down and glaring across the table at her. “You saved him by killing him. Raven knows damn well that even if you’d managed to knife the Commander there’s no way anyone could have gotten in to save you and Finn, and we’d be at war right now. She’s hurt and she’s grieving and she’s still a pain in the ass, but she’s smart enough to know you did what you had to.”

“Can we just—not—not right now, please?” Clarke says, slumping tiredly in her chair. Bellamy’s whole body hurts just from watching her, her guilt palpable and heavy and weighing them down.

“Tomorrow,” he says after a long moment. “I’m locking you two in a room until you sort it out.”

“Tomorrow,” she echoes. It’s empty and broken, the word disappearing into the darkening sky.

“Come on,” he says. “It’s late.” He tugs at her arm until she follows him across camp, disappearing into his tiny tent once more. They fall asleep side by side, not touching—like Raven, she’ll let him touch her, but only on her terms-- but together nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

 

“Clarke!” Bellamy swears under his breath, dodging a crowd of hunters about to head out. She’s avoiding him. He vaults over a table and skids to a stop in front of her. “Gotcha. Come on.”

“Bell, I—“

“Nope.”

“But—“

“No.”

“Seriously, my mom—“

“Is still in meetings with the Commander and will be all day so she can’t be your excuse, and you know they aren’t going to let you in on that even if they should, and medical is empty, so come on.”

He levers her ahead of him, marching her to the office Raven has been using with the remaining engineers and bursting through the door noisily.

“What the—oh.” Raven turns back to her workbench.

“She’s busy,” Clarke hisses.

“I’m busy,” Raven echoes.

“Not that busy.” He shoves Clarke forward, prodding her in the back until she’s stumbled over to Raven’s desk. She ignores them until Bellamy bodily picks her up by the waist and turns her around, depositing her in front of Clarke. “Talk. This. Out. I’m going to be right outside and you’re not leaving until you two are talking again.”

“This isn’t some stupid catfight!” Clarke shouts at him. “She doesn’t have to talk to me if she doesn’t want to.”

“Yep,” Raven says flatly, arms crossed over her chest.

“You,” Bellamy points at Raven. “Are mourning Finn. Which is fine. But you’re being a jackass about it. And you,” he points at Clarke. “Aren’t going to stop blaming yourself for this until you two talk it out. Because we all cared about Finn, and _all_ of us—“ He looks pointedly back at Raven—“Know that killing him was a gift compared to what he was facing, and that it was the right thing to do.”

He backs through the door, glaring at them both. “Play nice.”

 

* * *

 

 

Bellamy leaves them alone, and Clarke fidgets with her fingers, avoiding Raven’s eyes. That bastard, she’s going to shoot him in the foot when she gets out of here.

“So,” Clarke starts. “I—“

“I’m busy,” Raven says flatly, turning back to her desk. The brace squeaks with her movements, and Clarke winces. She picks at a broken screwdriver sitting on the desk in front of her, fiddling with the loose handle as Raven bows her head over her work.

“Is there—can I help?”

“You know rocket science now, princess?”

“Right.” Clarke’s shoulders slump. “Look, I know you aren’t going to forgive me, and you don’t have to—“

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“Raven, please,” Clarke says quietly. “I wanted to save him as much as you did.”

“No, you didn’t.” Raven carefully sets her tools down, turning calmly to face Clarke. “I didn’t give you a knife to kill Finn, I gave you a knife to save him.”

“How was that going to go, then? I stab the Commander, maybe she dies. Maybe she doesn’t. Either way, I’m dead, and then so is Finn, except this way he’s _tortured_ to death.”

“We could have gotten to you in time,” Raven says stubbornly.

“No, you couldn’t.” Clarke’s breath hangs in her throat, the falling apart in the air between them. “Raven, you know that wasn’t going to work. If I did that, then Finn died slowly, and maybe so do me and you and Bellamy and anyone who tried to help us. We can’t win a war against them with every person fighting for us, so how were we going to win with three of us?”

“It wasn’t your call to make!”

“Yes it was!” Clark slams the broken screwdriver down, the metal and plastic clanging dully in the empty room with them. “I was there. I did everything I could to get her to change her mind, I tried to trade myself, I offered everything I had and it wasn’t enough. I knew exactly what would happen if I didn’t kill him and I made the call to save you and Bellamy and everyone else.” She leans on the desk, her limbs trembling as she tries to hold herself upright against the guilt curving her spine.

“He saved my life,” Raven says quietly, and a quiet sob catches in Clarke’s throat. “No one ever hurt me as badly as he did, but he still saved my life.”

“I know.” Clarke swipes at the tears in her eyes. Her hands are still shaking. “I loved him, Raven, and I know you did, too. He wasn’t good to us, but we loved him, and now he’s gone.”

“It’s not _fair_ ,” Raven says, clenching at the edge of her desk. The metal creaks in her grip, and Clarke reaches out tentatively, fingers curling over Raven’s dirty knuckles. A series of breaths pass, and Raven’s fingers start to relax. Clarke counts through two more—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, there’s nothing simpler or harder than breathing—before she slides her fingers through Raven’s.

“Please don’t hate me,” Clarke whispers. “I couldn’t save him, but I wasn’t ready to lose you and Bellamy and—I couldn’t handle that, too.”

“I know,” Raven says, quiet and even. She finally looks over at Clarke, eyes dry and mouth set in an even line. “And I don’t hate you.” She smiles, barely, stretched and tired but _there_ , and Clarke relaxes limply against the table, her first smile in weeks spreading, and she grabs abruptly at Raven, yanking her into a tight embrace.

“What—oh.” The metal splinting her leg screeches against the steel tabletop, loud and grating, as she turns into the hug, but Clarke ignores it and buries her forehead in Raven’s shoulder. She takes a long breath in, inhaling the smell of sweat and metal and singed circuits that always clings to Raven’s skin—just like sweat and dirt and gunpowder radiates off of Bellamy—as she clings tighter.

“I couldn’t lose you guys, too,” Clarke mumbles again. Raven’s fingers dig into her back, and her sharp nod presses her chin into Clarke’s shoulder. “Maybe once I could have but not—not now. I chose _you_.”  

The door creaks open, and Bellamy pokes his head in. “You guys aren’t going to start punching each other, right?”

“Go away,” Raven barks out, not moving to look at him.

“Ignore him,” Octavia’s voice floats in through the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep him occupied.”

There’s the sound of a scuffle outside, and Bellamy protesting— _“I need to talk to them, they’re my--“_ before Octavia drags him away and the door clangs shut.

“We should probably go get him,” Clarke mumbles eventually, relaxing into Raven’s embrace and tangling her fingers gently in dark hair.

“Yeah, whatever,” Raven says, not moving. Quiet seconds click by before Clarke pulls back, her hands falling to Raven’s shoulders.

“What are you working on in here?”

Raven shrugs, jerking her head towards the workbench. “Hydraulics. I’m trying to make this stupid brace work better.”

A frown crosses over Clarke’s face as her eyes drop down to where Raven’s left leg—noticeably narrower than the other, muscle withering away from disuse; the last time the three of them had been together had been the first since Raven was shot and Clarke had almost cried at the way her leg hung like dead weight—is wrapped in a permanent splint.

“It’s fine,” Raven says quietly. “I’m getting used to it. I’m not going to forgive Murphy anytime soon, but I’m getting used to it.” She musters up the bravado to wink at Clarke, fingers flexing and thumbs pressing teasingly into her hips for a brief moment. “Besides, if I can turn a dropship into a firebomb, then I’m sure I can turn this busted leg into something useful.”

The door bursts open and Bellamy bounds in, Octavia behind him and already grabbing at his jacket.

“Are we good?” he asks, shaking his sister’s grip off easily as his gaze scans over the two of them.

Clarke tilts her head, looking carefully at Raven, until Raven nods. “We’re good.”

“Great.” Bellamy claps his hands together. “So now can we please figure out how to get our people back, because these idiots aren’t going to stop arguing long enough to get anything done.”

“Let’s get to work,” Raven says, still looking at Clarke. Neither of them move until Bellamy appears at their side, a hand on each of their shoulders, heavy and familiar. Raven covers his hand for a brief moment before pulling away and throwing open the makeshift cabinet next to her desk. As she digs through it, Clarke mouths a quiet _thank you_ up to Bellamy, accepting the brief kiss his presses to the top of her head.

“What is _that_?” Octavia shoves past them to where Raven is clattering dark metal and cloth out of the cabinet.

“Body armor,” Raven says, tossing a vest to her. “A lot of the older engines had layers of titanium and ceramic casing on the exterior to protect from most basic attacks. I found enough pieces to make enough body armor for half a dozen people.”

“I could kiss you,” Clarke and Bellamy mutter in unison, and Octavia rolls her eyes as Raven smirks and winks at them.

“So.” Raven tosses two more vests two Bellamy and Clarke. “Aside from me having a functioning leg, what else do we need?”

“A plan,” Clarke says grimly. She prods at the body armor, smiling at the solid plates fitted meticulously into the fabric. She casts a look over to Octavia, who’s already shrugged out of her jacket and sheath so she can try on her vest. “You should get Lincoln.”

“Right,” she says distractedly, fiddling with the straps on the vest. She shoots a look over at her brother. “Should we come back in…half an hour? So you idiots can finish making up?”

Clarke flushes and Bellamy glares, but Raven chimes in with “Make it an hour.”

“Gross,” Octavia says, but she punches Bellamy in the arm and strides out. “One hour!” she calls over her shoulder.

“Well,” Bellamy says as the door closes, turning to face the two of them with his arms over his chest. “We should get started.”

 

* * *

 

 **Things That Are Good At This Time** (a list by Bellamy Blake):

o   Almost everything

 


End file.
